


Cold

by 0pposing



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Brutality, Doctor John Watson, Explicit Sexual Content, First Kiss, First Time, Flirting, Fluff and Angst, Forgiveness, French Kissing, Friends to Lovers, Gay Sex, Kissing, Love, M/M, Mistakes, Murder, Paranoia, Possessive Sherlock, Post Reichenbach, Romance, Romantic Friendship, Sex, Sherlock Being Sherlock, Sherlock Being an Idiot, Sherlock Holmes and Feelings, Sherlock goes to jail, Tension, Unresolved Emotional Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Violence, overdue kiss
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-31
Updated: 2014-01-31
Packaged: 2018-01-10 15:37:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1161523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/0pposing/pseuds/0pposing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock and John basically have been friends for an extremely long time, but now Sherlock feels something rising in him and he can't tell what it is, and to be frank, he's bloody scared. He's not sure if John will accept him for what he feels but it's worth a try anyways. Who knows, they may go from friends to lovers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Caring Is Not An Advantage

**Author's Note:**

> This is my very first fan fiction, so I apologize in advance for any grammatical errors or if I use English text wrong.  
> Let me know how I can upgrade the story and somehow make it better. Criticism is highly appreciated and so is any advice.  
> This story will be separated into chapters and this is merely the first, so if you like it, please go ahead and bookmark it. c:  
> If anyone actually reads this and it gets quite a few hits, I'll post the second chapter within a week.

 

 

 

 

 

 

The leather on the chair was thick and cold to the touch, but not uncomfortably cold. It was a comfort feeling. Like the feeling Sherlock got when he would finally sleep after a case, and his pillow was 'cold' and 'comforting' for he had been away from it so long. There was something wrong though. A sick, strange feeling. The flat was empty. No Mrs. Hudson, or John, Lestrade, or Mycroft. John didn't come by very often, Mrs. Hudson was in the mourning after an old friend, and Lestrade was on leave in Germany for a puzzle/murder case.

"Bored." Sherlock said aloud to himself, letting his eyelids drop over his pale eyes and his mouth twitched, just for a second, into a slight smile. His phone was about 4 feet away from him, but as he was lazy and such, he simply leaned over the armrest of the chair, grabbed the phone and texted John.

'Dinner tonight? SH'

'No, i can't. working.'

'tomorrow then. SH'

'yes.'

His conversations with John were usually short but sweet, but Sherlock didn't mind, for every second talking to john felt like an eternity. And Sherlock like it.

No. No. Not like. Appreciate. He appreciates it. Mycroft flashes into his mind for a brief second. "Caring is not an advantage, Sherlock". But Sherlock reassures himself that Dr. John Watson is just a friend.

_Migraine. Damn_.

Sherlock stood up, wrapping his sheet around his body. He was always naked in the morning, except for his bed sheet which was always draped around him. He stumbled over to the two windows and brought the drapes over, emitting darkness into the already depressing flat. Grabbing the remote, he switched on the telly and sat back down, more slouchlike than before. For about 30 minutes his eyes struggled to stay open until he finally gave up and succumbed to a deep sleep.

*****

John was just finishing his last patient of the day. An ingrown toenail. _How repulsive_. He shuddered and stood up, grabbing his coat and putting it on. Rain had begun to drizzle outside and John sighed. The sunlight never came and he longed for just a glimpse of the gas giant that brought warmth to so many other places. He walked out of his clinic, saying goodbye to his fellow work partners. For some reason, Sherlock always had this magic ability to summon taxis whenever and John couldn't even get one. After about 10 minutes standing in the rain, he managed to hail one and got inside. "Baker Street."

******

Sherlock had obtained a package of nicotine patches from Mycroft awhile back. There was a note attached with the words, "Here's to your good 'health', brother." Opening the package, he pushed aside the wrappings onto the floor and began to open the box itself. Noticing there were only about 10, he sighed deeply and closed his eyes for a mere 6 seconds, processing what an asshole his brother was. _I'm fine. Fine._

******

The door downstairs made a thud and John winced slightly. He had made it a point to surprise Sherlock tonight and possibly go out for dinner like he had asked. But it wouldn't be much of a surprise if Sherlock knew he was there. Taking a couple minutes to let the silence settle in, John smiled slightly and began to creep up the stairs.

A moan came from the flat and John stopped dead in his tracks, sweat beads appearing on his foreheads.

_does he have a visitor? Am i interrupting. oh shit, oh shit. What do i do? Do I leave? Do I stay? Maybe he has a visitor. I could call him.. but wait, no. He'd be able to hear me out here if i did that.. I could just wait it out I guess.._

Silence once again and John continued on his way. His hand touched the doorknob and felt its coldness and he opened it slowly.

Sherlock was lying flat on the floor face to the side and eyes wide open. No, he wasn't dead but he was dead to the world at least.

"Oh. It's just you." He looked up at John and in his head, admired his baby blue knitted sweater.

"What do you mean, just me?" A frown appeared on John's face for a second and he set his satchel and coat down on the couch. He noticed the windows were covered by black-out curtains. Another reason to frown.

"You're going to catch a cold like this, at least if you don't get some air."

"A cold? Dull. Now how about a cardiac arrest? Or death by sexual asphyxiation. That's nearly the furthest thing from dull. Not a silly cold." His tone was harsh and abrupt, eyes avoiding John for every word he spoke.

"Oh. Ehm, alright." Silence was golden. "I was actually going to ask you to dinner, considering you asked me.. but seeing as how you're building a relationship with the floor, i'll take my leave." He began to turn to leave but something stopped him.

 

*****

 

A hand was grasped around his ankle; cold, pale, and attractively bony. Sherlock remained on the floor, but now he was facing up at John.

"I'd actually love dinner." These were the only words spoken as Sherlock got up, his sheet falling off of his chest, revealing a pale, thin fit body. His collarbones seemed to gleam in what light there was and his much lighter complexion brought out how defined his natural muscles were. John gulped a little and stammered, not too noticeably.

"Uh, i'll uh, go get your clothes." He hurried off into Sherlocks room, returning with his usual appearance clothing.

"I'll go get us a taxi, and i'll see you in a few."

Sherlock merely nodded and flashed his usual fake grin. It wasn't fake this time. He loved seeing John completely embarrassed and in utter awe of the beauty he had seen. But he was downstairs now and on the sidewalk, trying aimlessly to hail a cab. Sherlock stripped off his sheet and began to pull on his clothes, one by one.

 

******

The ride to the restaurant wasn't too long, and neither was the wait once they had got there. Silence was golden.

"Oooh, the lemon salmon sounds good, eh?" John looked at Sherlock, who seemed to be staring at someone across the room.

"Uh, Sherlock?"

"Mmm."

"Are you alright, mate? You look bloody demented."

"I'm fine. But.. do you see that woman over there? The corner table. Mascara is smeared, hair is disheveled, she's constantly checking her phone and looking repeatedly around the restaurant."

"So she was stood up..?" John guessed.

"Obviously." Abrupt tone was again.

"Right, because i can just tell when someone has been stood up." Sherlocks eyes wandered over to John.

"Hmm?"

"Nothing. Forget it."

The sounds of clinks of silverware started again, along with a mildy chatty audience at the bar arguing over the game on the screen. It seemed there was rivalry between the two teams that were playing, initiating a bar fight with two men and ending with them both getting kicked out.

Sherlock chuckled. "Barbaric, slightly. It's a game of skill basically. How well the players compete. It does not conclude what team is better, for their skills differ."

John stared at Sherlock. "Sorry?"

"I meant that fighting over individual teams is a waste of time." "Oh." The room began to get cold and John shivered, buttoning up the front of his jacket. Their food had arrived and Sherlock had barely touched a bit of his fish.

*****

 

 

 

 

Walking back into the flat, Sherlock sat down in his chair, kicking off his shoes. He avoided John in every way and had not spoken a word since they had finished eating.

_God, look at him. Glowing with beauty. His thin blonde hair, now streaked with showers of grey here and there. He's a beautiful man_.

Sherlock stopped himself and sighed, closing his eyes. Minutes past before anything was said between the two of them.

 

"I'll be leaving, I guess."John said quietly.

_No stay please. I want you here with me. I want to run my fingers through your hair and smile when you smile._

"Are you sure?" Sherlock still didn't look up.

"it's late."

"Your bed is set upstairs just in case." Sherlock stood up and walked to his bedroom, turning off the lights behind him. He slammed the door behind him. John stood, staring at Sherlocks bedroom door.

"Alright." He exhaled loudly through his mouth and looked around. Walking out of Sherlocks flat, he shut the door behind him and continued up the stairs to his room quietly.

_He wants me to stay._

_Or does he._

_Maybe he's just afraid._

_Afraid of being alone_.

_If that's the case then i don't want to be some shoulder to cry on or some rebound._

But he continued up the stairs and shut his door also. Once inside, he stripped off his clothing and snuck into his sheets. Grabbing a book from the nightstand next to his bed, he turned on his lamp and began to read his book.

*****

Sherlock was laying in his bed silently, in complete darkness.

Many thoughts popped into his mind. Thoughts of how him and John were amazing friends, and it was improbable that they could be anything more.

 

Anways, Sherlock knew that John didn't go that way, so basically, according to Sherlock, there was no hope at all for him.

Sleep wasn't an option right now. For either of them. Thoughts and feelings shrouded their minds and neither could think properly without mistakenly thinking about one another.

Simply an accident though.

You don't control your conscience, do you? John wondered for a second if he could be like Sherlock and simply just delete his feelings for him. If it was possible, he surely would of done it. A part of him didn't want to.

*****

As soon as John had begun to fall asleep, all thoughts aside, his phone lit up suddenly, lighting up an entire corner of the room.

'I need you. SH'

John pulled the covers off of him slowly and stood up. walking toward his door hurriedly

When he opened the door, Sherlock was already standing there.

"I need you."

*****

 

"I'm sorry, what?" John tilted his head and squinted at Sherlock. "Not sure I quite understand."

"There's a case. Lestrade phoned awhile ago and informed me that three teenagers were found downtown in the abandoned brick factory. He's not sure how. No worries." Sherlock did his grin and turned. He was already fully dressed.

_That was fast._

"Eh, alright. Give me a sec?" John asked and shut the door slowly. 

Opening the doors to his wardrobe style closet, he picked out the most decent outfit he had. He needed to do laundry horribly. A pet peeve of his; he couldn't stand washing clothes and then having to go through the process of putting them all away. Boring and an unbelievable waste of time.

"John, hurry up or I'm leaving without you." 

John rolled his eyes and opened his door, closing it behind. He could barely see considering it wasn't even sunrise so he fumbled down the steps, trying his best not to fall and cause an 'accident'.

"Alright, let's get going, I guess."

"I lied."

"what..?"

"I said I lied. Would you like me to repeat?"

"What did you lie about? What do you mean?" John shook his head and chuckled nervously. 

"We're going to go somewhere. i want to take a break. I feel like me and you aren't nearly as 'happy' as we used to be. Whatever that means." A suitcase was next to Sherlock. It had 8 zippers. Two on each side for easy small things, two large ones, presumably for clothes and utensils, two pockets in the front for money and small keys of sorts, and two small flaps on the back for shoes possibly.

"You don't need to pack. I've taken the liberty of doing it myself."

"Oh. I was wondering where all my clothes went. I almost thought I had to do laundry again. So.. where are we going?"

"France."

"isn't that supposed to be the most romantic place in the world?" John asked.

"Yes."

"Why are we going there?"

"I'm going to leave that up to you, dear John."

*****


	2. France

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who read the story and gave me kudos and such! I also really thank the person who bookmarked it, that made me almost pee my pants. I know it's not very exciting yet, but it will be soon, trust me.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

"Sherlock?"

"Mmm?"

"i need to tell you something. I've been wanting to ever since you.. you know, 'came back from the dead' I guess."

"Go on." Sherlock had been trying to fall asleep, but John wouldn't stop talking.

_He looked in the wardrobe. That means now that I'm back, he's still in the state of mind that he lives here. He also didn't notice I had said his bed was made. Never asked why I would of made it if he didn't live here._

Smiling, he tried to listen to John but was completely tuned out because of the fact that John made the mistake of thinking he still lived at Baker Street.

"... and that's why i never wanted to tell you. There. It's out, it's gone and it's off my chest. We can relax."

"I'm sorry, were you saying something?" Sherlock looked at him and smiled. "We're almost there by the way. To the airport. Be ready."

John frowned and looked down. "No.. nevermind.." John had completely poured out his heart and soul into every word of that and Sherlock hadn't even heard any of it. But what does it matter? Probably everyone around them had heard it. At least someone did.

*****

"Where do we go?"

"There should be some kind of hotel a ways away, I believe." Sherlock studied a map intently.

"Are you really using a map?" John laughed and Sherlock looked at him angrily.

"Is there a problem?"

"No, not at all." His laughter subsided.

"John.

"What?"

"You live with Mary."

"Yes..? I do."

"But you looked in the wardrobe. For clothes. But you don't live here."

"Oh. Wait. How did you know i looked in the bloody wardrobe? What, do you have cameras in my room hidden somewhere?"

"No, I guessed. So you did look in the wardrobe." Sherlock smirked and entered a taxi that he brought over a second ago.

"You know, I hate you sometimes."

"That really means you love me."

*****

"So I was thinking I'd like to move back in." After about an hour of silence, sitting in a delightful french restaurant, John was the first one to speak up.

"Have you talked to Mary about this?" Sherlock sipped his tea and looked at John. "I don't think your fiancee would want you living with some other person, considering it's not even her. I can tell."

"Well.." John trailed off and looked around, almost like he was making sure nobody was listening. But who would be? "Mary and I.. kind of got in a fight yesterday. That's mainly the reason I came to 221B. I needed somewhere to sleep. But once I had woken up, it's literally like I had never left. Except the fact I had not one single pair of clean clothes." He shoveled a bite of caviar into his mouth.

"It's been 2 years."

"I understand that."

Silence came again and the two sat there, hearing everyone around them delving deep into many different conversations. A man sat at a large table across from them, heavy set, thick coke bottle glasses and a cheap suit on, possibly from a thrift shop. A large heavy stack of cards was standing directly across from him on the other side of the table. 8 on top, and 8 on the bottom. Each card had either a moon or a sun, with usual small details along the border.

Sherlock stood up quickly and stared at the heavy man sitting there, almost knocking Johns cup of tea out of his hand.

"Stay. Here."

John looked up at Sherlock frightened and coughed. "W-where are you going?"

"Stay. HERE."

Sherlock walked away and approached the strange figure, pulling out the table chair and grabbing himself a seat.

"Pick a card." The mans voice was shakey, but stern and deep.

_He obviously knows who I am, or he most likely wouldn't have been here or he wouldn't have been staring at me for God knows how long._

_His glasses are scratched in numerous places, indicating he doesn't have a lot of money and he can't get them fixed. The suit has tears in the pockets and in the cuffs; the jacket pocket indicates traces of ink which goes to show he carries a pen around all the time, possibly for signing things or that he knows he's going to have to write something. Ink smudges all over his hands, hair is greasy but covered in gel, meaning he hasn't taken a shower in quite some time, or that he has no shower and/or no place to live_.

Sherlock smirked and grabbed the center card from the top.

"Turn it over."

Turning over the card, he saw it was illustrated deeply with the roman numerals going up to 10 and poorly drawn hearts assembling to make a knife broken in half by a hand. It symbolized something but he didn't know what.

"Now pick another." The rims of the mans glasses flashed and Sherlock stretched his fingers before grabbing the far left card from the bottom.

*****

"So what does it mean?" John asked, taking off his shoes and coat, then setting them near the door.

Their hotel room was extravagant. Three vases of large red roses were scattered around the room and the walls were painted with faint floral designs. The paint itself was an extremely light gold, with a hint of grey. The furniture matched the design of the walls, but were a dark grey. A small footstool was near the end of the one bed, a writing desk was placed in front of the window, along with a huge mirror placed exactly to the left of it. The bathroom was separated by two wooden saloon style doors and inside there were two sinks and an old styled bath tub that was held up by gold pegs.

"Not sure. But it does mean something important."

Sherlock lied again. _He knew exactly what it meant. The first card predicted that boundaries would be broken between two people, but to be careful for someone could get hurt and the end. The second card was white. Not completely white but it was a snowstorm. Flecks of white were scattered on the card and in the distance there was the north star._

The second card he had no idea what it meant, it just had something to do with being cold or getting cold, at least.

Sherlock began to look at John more deeply, noticing every crack, every wrinkle in his clothes, every pigment in his eyes, the grey in his hair. He studied him for what seemed like hours but was only really a couple minutes. He loved the way Johns hands moved when he would grab onto something, let it be a doorknob or silverware. They flexed and surfaced the veins in his hands, releasing a feeling of testosterone with Sherlock. This was the man he wanted to be with. The man who waited two years. Who wished for him to not be dead for 730 days, 24 months and so many days, hours, and seconds. Months of therapy and mourning, staying away from anyone and wallowing in depression. This was the man he had left. And this was the man he wanted so bad. To make up for what he did. To be forgiven.

"Listen John. I think we're going to enjoy it here." He looked at John, slowly unbuttoning his suit shirt and letting it hang open.

"O-oh. Why do you think that..?" John gulped and tried to avoid Sherlocks gaze, but he couldn't break eye contact.

"Simply because I know how you feel." He smiled and let his shirt fall to the floor, now taking a step toward John, pulling the card out from his back pocket. "Do you see this card, John? Boundaries must be broken, yes? It was supposed to happen. I was supposed to pull this card, we were supposed to come here. Understand, John?" Sherlock pulled his face close to Johns. So close John could feel his breath run up and down his neck.

"Sherlock.. please don't."

"Why? I don't understand." He nibbled Johns neck and inhaled deeply, taking in every last breath he could of John. Taking Johns wrist, he slammed John down on the bed.

"Sherlock stop!" John writhed beneath Sherlock and flailed his legs about underneath him.

"You think you don't want it but I can see it in your eyes, it's sparking and deep and you want to let it out, don't you?"

"I.. I do but i don't think this is right. I'm still with Mary and I can't do that to her.. it's.. it's just not right, Sherlock."

 John managed to wiggle out from underneath the 6 foot man and backed up towards the front door.

"I-i'm sorry. I-i have to go. I can't stay here. I need to be with Mary. I'm sorry.."

Sherlock stared and nodded.

*****

Sherlock sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the floor below him. John was gone, and he wasn't sure if he'd come back tonight. Or ever.

~~Caring is not an advantage~~.

Maybe the boundaries meant to be broken were the friendship, and in the end someone was definitely hurt.

_Cold. I'm cold_.

Sherlock redressed into his underwear and slipped into the bed. The sheets were also cold but warmed up with his body heat. He laid there thinking endlessly of what he did wrong. He'd never meant to hurt John or give away the impression he was going to harm him, but he was always told some people like force and toughness.. Maybe that wasn't for John.

Rubbing his temples with his fingers he sighed. It was no use, he couldn't delete this. It was important. he couldn't delete important things.

But he could possibly fix this if he had the chance. John wasn't ready for that, and to be honest, Sherlock wasn't ready. Everything was too fast paced and it all happened so quickly. Nothing was planned and something like that should always be planned.

If given the chance, Sherlock would no doubt try to cover the problem and confess up to his mistakes, but he had no idea when he'd get a chance to apologize for his actions.

He could go out and look for John, but it was almost midnight and he'd had no idea where he went. He could've gotten on a late train and gone home, he did say he needed to be with Mary.

*****

John wandered around in complete darkness, almost running as fast as he could, breathing harsh and on the verge of tears.

He didn't know why, but he had called the police. He had no idea what to do and they were already on their way to the hotel. He was scared and uncertain of what happen or what would have happened if John had let it continue.

But he regretted it so deeply. Sherlock was going to be in jail. And for what? For mixing his feelings up and doing something mistakenly. That wasn't his fault. He's never done that before, he had no idea what he was doing.

He stopped running and caught his breath, sighing deeply and looking behind him, figuring out whether he should go back. It was probably already too late and Sherlock was being hauled off, without defiance of course, and it was all for nothing. Just because John was scared and nervous about what he's really like. He had Mary, but did he want her?

Tears came again and John spun around, facing the direction he was running before.

_It's cold._

*****

'I am sorry. SH'

John looked at his phone and saw the text, studying it for a good 3 minutes, debating whether to reply or not.

'John?'

'John please.'

.

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'John, I'm sorry.'

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'You are my pressure point, John Watson.'

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'My weakness.'

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'Come back.'

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'I can't do this.'

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**'I'm coming. JW.'**

*********


	3. We Can Forget Everything

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't have many hits, but I don't care. I want to continue this story and I think it's turning out pretty good. Thanks for reading if you do, and please, feel free to bookmark.  
> P.S. This whole story will be written to Crystal Castles.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Feet pounding on the sidewalk, heart racing, sweat dripping from his forehead.

 "You shit.." John mumbled under his breath and continued to run, at least to beat the police to the hotel. With every step, his feet ached, his heart felt like it might burst into pieces and his lungs throbbed with pounds. His throat might rip apart if he kept up running like this, but as long as Sherlock was safe, it didn't matter. _His_ Sherlock.

 He coughed horrendously but kept running, getting odd looks from the French people who were still outside this late.

 

_I am so sorry.._

 

He stopped dead in his tracks, looking at the hotel doors.

 The police were already there and they were escorting Sherlock out the front, minus the handcuffs.

 

He mouthed again.

 

_I am so sorry.._

 

Sherlock stared at him from the steps and continued to walk towards the car.

 Tears fell again and John ran towards them.

 But Sherlock was already in the car along with the police and had driven away. A few policeman had stayed behind to question John in case he had come back, which he did.

 

"Listen, it's a mistake! I didn't mean to call the police, it was an accident! You have to release him!" John almost ran into one of the officers and shouted in his face, pointing in the direction in which the car was going.

 

"How is calling the police on a rape case an 'accident'?" The officer spoke in French and laughed, looking over at his fellow mates.

 

John held back the urge to smack him in the face hard and fast. Maybe to kill him.

 

_I'll.. I'll just go to the station and explain to them everything and that it was all an accident and it never meant to happen._

_*****_

 

_"_ Officer, please, you have to at least believe me. I didn't mean to call you."

 

John struggled to find the right words to tell the Chief, but it was damn hard because he couldn't exactly tell the officer what might've happened in that hotel room.

 

There were two options: He could either tell the Chief exactly what happened and risk the police either being mortified or John would be embarrassed at how the Chief would laugh at him.

 

"Can I at least see him?" John sighed and put his head into his hands, rubbing his eyes with the tips of his fingertips, veins popping out and his bones working majestically.

 

"I guess. You could also bail him out but..." He laughed. "I doubt you have the money to do that.

 

John held back the urge to stab him with the pencil that was in his own hand.

 

John left the room and coughed for a second, looking around the room and towards the back where the temporary cells lay.

 

_Sherlock.._

_I'm coming.._

*****

_I don't understand._

_Why would he do this?_

Sherlock paced back and forth in his cell, his shoes making a very loud clacking noise, hair swooshing every turn he made.

_He's not going to get me. He wanted this. He wanted to convict me of a mistaken crime_.

"Sherlock.."

Sherlock turned quickly and faced the bars. John stood beyond them, hands on two of them and eyes watery.

"I.. didn't mean for this happen. I just.. I was scared, Sherlock. I didn't understand what was happening. And.. maybe I did want it, I don't know, but I really did not mean for this to happen."

Sherlock stared angrily, filling with rage and betrayal, wanting to turn away and leave John to feel horrible about himself.

But he couldn't bring himself to do it.

_It's okay, I love you._

"John."

"Please don't be angry, I can call up Lestrade and maybe we can bail you out and we can forget this. We can forget everything and we can go back to Baker Street and I can call everything off with Mary and just.. please do not be angry.."

John slid down onto his knees and looked at the floor.

"Because I'm sorry.."

Sherlock continued to stare, but now walking towards the bars as well, the anger on his face completely gone. Like it was never there. He smiled and started laughing.

"W-what the hell are you laughing at?!" John shouted and stood up again, tightening his grip on the bars and sticking his face in between them. "This isn't funny. This is the furthest thing from funny, Sherlock."

"It's not funny. But it's also not boring." Sherlock stuck his face in front of Johns, looking down. "I love you, John Watson. I love you for everything you are. For everything you could be if your mind wasn't so simple. For the grey in your hair, presumably caused by me, the incoming wrinkles in your face, your dark eyes which reflect everything about you, your height, you are extremely short, your need to find someone to love you. Everything."

John stared and licked his bottom lip.

"Are you going to kiss me?" John asked.

"Maybe."

Sherlock leaned forward, opening his lips unto Johns. John smiled and licked Sherlocks upper lip, breathing in deeply, drawing in every last scent of Sherlock. His tongue ran wild in Sherlocks mouth, both their lips moving in rhythm with each others. Peaceful slow movements. Not too rough and not too slow. Perfect movements. Sherlock finally felt at peace. Eyes shut tight and his heart pounding in his pale chest.

_Don't let go_.

"I would have you here right now if I could." Sherlock mumbled and John smiled, drawing away.

"I will get you out here. I will do it right now. I don't care how much money I have, I'm going to get you out."

"I know you will."

*****

For someone who had just bailed out his now lover, John was awfully silent on the plane ride home, not taking his eyes off the ocean below them. He didn't want to speak until they were home. Not just landed, but in Baker Street. In their home.

The water below the plane eventually turned into a vast land of green and buildings, but still looking like an ocean. Rolling by fast and in a flash.

Once their plane had landed, John and Sherlock exited with all the other passengers. Once he was outside, he noticed it was cold. Too cold without a jacket. Sherlock walked behind him, probably on purpose. It was awkward the whole way home and John felt like stabbing himself in the chest just to be rid of it.

Sherlock spoke first in the cab awhile later.

"I think Lestrade might have a case for me."

"Already..?"

"Yes. He's back from Germany and he texted me saying to stop by the Yard whenever. It's not that important if he's not rushing me over."

"Oh.. alright."

The cab stopped in front of 221B Baker Street and let the boys out. Mrs. Hudson was nowhere to be seen. Presumably still in mourning over the friend.

They both walked inside and up the stairs to their beloved flat, unlocking the door and stepping inside. Everything was exactly where it had been before. Nothing touched. The only difference was the dust had picked up a little on certain items.

_Just need a bit of cleaning_ , John thought.

_I'd better go see Mary._

"Sherlock, I'll be back in a little, alright? Don't go missing or something."

"Where would I go?" He smirked and kissed Johns neck slowly. "I'll wait."

John blushed and cleared his throat. "I'll be back."

*****

A vase hit the wall.

"What the fuck do you _mean_ , it's **OVER**?!" Mary screamed, mascara traces on her cheeks.

"Listen Mary, calm down! I just don't think it's working with us!" John took cover behind the couch and covered his head with his hands. "Please stop throwing things!"

"NO. I'll gladly do whatever the fuck I want!" She shouted, throwing one of her heels at him, managing to scrape his thumb. He picked up a painting off the wall and used it as a shield, trying to narrow down the amount of damage he'd take if Mary kept this up. He aimed to take his leave and started to half jog over to the door.

"How can you do this?! After all we've been through? Suddenly this man just pops back into your life and you're basically in love with him?!"

"I ALWAYS HAVE BEEN."

Silence.

"What.. you've always been in _love_ with him?" She asked and let her other shoe down. "Then why would you ask _me_ out? Why am _I_   your ' _girlfriend_ '?" Mary fell to the floor and began to sob, covering her face with her hands, letting out horrible cries.

"Please, Mary, don't cry. You'll find someone better and you know it. I know it too. I'm not worth your time." He crouched down next to her and suddenly his feelings came back.

_How could I do this? She was in love with. I may not be in love with her anymore but.. I can't imagine how horrible this is to hear._

"Listen.. it's not like we can't be friends anymore but.. I just don't feel the same and you have to understand that. I am deeply sorry for hurting you so much but sometimes we must break boundaries and let things go.. Please understand."

"I do.. I just.. when did you realize this..?" She asked and looked at him. "I don't understand. It's so sudden."

"I always have, Mary. Always. But when I thought he was dead, I thought I needed to move on. And I found you. And you really, really helped me through a lot. And I thank you for that."

"I see.." She said softly.

"Listen.. I need to go.. I'm sorry.." John stood up and looked towards the front door.

Marys house was now in shambles. Everything almost broken from either her punching it or throwing it at John.

"I'll see you later.." He said and walked towards the door, opening it and stepping outside.

It had begun to rain, like the day John and Sherlock left for France. But remembering this brought back all the harsh feelings from the next day. Everything that had happened was an accident. And John had given away almost all his money to fix it. He had barely enough to get home.

Walking down the street a little ways and turning the corner, he took out his phone and texted Sherlock.

'Are you home?'

.

.

.

'Yes. SH.'

John hailed a cab and got inside, slightly damp with the rainwater. He had told the cab driver where to go and he was now, looking through his contacts to find Marys name. Once found, he pressed options and scrolled over to delete. His thumb flickered back and forth, wondering if he should do it or not.

He did, in all fairness, say he would be friends with her, but he wasn't sure if she'd want that anyways. And it'd probably be too hard for the both of them.

He clicked delete and put his phone away into his coat pocket.

_It would be better this way, at least. I know it doesn't seem that way, but she'll realize it. She'll understand_.

*****

_Footsteps up the stairs._

_Loud but not too loud._

_Not Mrs. Hudson._

_Not Lestrade._

_Not Mycroft._

_Gentle but loud._

_John._

Sherlock smiled and looked towards the door as John opened it. He was seated in his usual chair, violin in hand, just finishing some Brandenburg pieces.

"Ah, John. There you are." Sherlock sit his violin next to his chair, standing up and smiling for a quick second.

" I did it. I broke it off with Mary."

"And how was it?"

"Not good. She threw things at me and cried forever. I feel extremely bad."

"Don't. She'll get over it. Everyone does."

"But Sherlock.. can you even for a second try to imagine how somebody feels when they lose the one they love? Wait, no you can't. Because you never have any bloody sympathy." John walked into the kitchen and noticed a cup of freshly made tea, probably for him.

"I can relate. I can try, at least. It's not like I don't have 'feelings'. I understand the chemistry perfectly."

"Okay, but that's not the point. You don't get it. And you never will. You never, ever will understand. You're smart up here," John pointed to his head. "But you have no idea what goes on down here." He then pointed to his chest, where his beating heart lay.

"It's just a chemical reaction, John. It's nothing of importance." He snapped at John and sat back down. His chances of doing anything with John tonight were completely ruined. Picking up his violin, he began to play again, loudly. Purposely doing so to drown out any words that came out of Johns mouth. John ground his teeth together and walked towards the front door and angrily slammed it behind him, walking up to 'his' room. He had wanted to sleep with Sherlock tonight, but it seemed Sherlock was in one of those moods. _He would never understand and he would never try. But if he didn't care, then why did he kiss me? That doesn't make any sense. Maybe he does have feelings but he's being selfish. I hope to God, this isn't all for his benefit. I hope he actually cares._

Walking into his room, he pushed the door almost closed behind him, leaving a little space in case Sherlock called for him. He got into his bed and sighed, staring up at the ceiling. Minutes passed by, seeming like hours and John thought if what happened at Mary's house was the right thing to do. What if Sherlock was just using him for something and John just broke off what could of been his last chance at love?

John squeezed his eyes shut and tried to sleep, but it wouldn't come. It never did.

_Don't know why I try._

*****


End file.
